Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse (22 page)

“What are you doing?” Leighton asked softly, watching from the end of the bed.

“Alimah heated the air inside the cups,” Watson explained, his gaze never leaving the two cups, “which caused the air to expand so that, as they cool, a slight vacuum will be produced inside them. Do you see what is happening?”

“The flesh is bulging up into the cups,” Leighton said, fascinated, “and the two wounds are bleeding more.”

“It is pulling out the poisoned blood, Mistress,” Alimah said, her gentle voice lilting. “It is safer than sucking with the mouth, though I have done so in an emergency. It does not do to swallow, or to have ulcers in the tongue, lips, or gums, however.”

“I… can see why,” Leighton murmured, still observing. “And… the cotton wool is…”

“Helping to soak up the contaminated blood,” Watson finished for her, glancing up with a smile. “There are, as Alimah suggests, several ways to do this, including using rubber squeeze bulbs on special cups similar to these, but this is what we have to hand, and it is probably the best way, in my professional opinion, as these kinds of cups are much easier to clean afterward. Alimah, as badly as he was bitten, I think I want to run a second set of cups on him, possibly a third.”

“Very good, Doctor. I will prepare two more sets.” And the Egyptian woman, older than any of them, smiled beneficently and moved to prepare more of the glass cups, which sat on another table nearby, where she had placed them earlier for convenience’s sake, anticipating the need.

“Salah, how are you feeling?” Watson asked.

“It does not hurt so much anymore,” Salah informed him. “And I am not so dizzy, I think.”

“Excellent,” Watson declared. “You are very fortunate, Salah: the cobra did not hit any major blood vessels, but injected its venom into the muscular tissue. I will swab the area with anaesthetic again when I take off the cups, and that should make it feel even better. You will undoubtedly have some bruising, old fellow, but you would have that anyway. Better a few bruises on a live body than the alternative, however, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” Salah said decidedly.

After a few more moments, Watson gently broke the seal on the cups, careful to catch up the soiled cotton wool inside without touching it, as he lifted them away; Alimah took them from him and set them aside to dispose of the cotton wool and cleanse the cups later. Then Watson dabbed a bit more of the cocaine solution directly on the incised wounds, and he and Alimah placed fresh cups over them, repeating their earlier procedure.

“Is he going to be all right, John?” Leighton asked the physician.

“I think so,” Watson concluded. “It was only one bite, and the venom of the Egyptian cobra is some six times less toxic than the king cobra of the Indian subcontinent. And the snake did not hit any major blood vessels, as I said; that would have been very bad, and he might not even have lived long enough for them to bring him here. The prognosis is good. He is not convulsing, his pulse is strong and steady, and his eyes are tracking well. We shall have to watch him for a few days; cobra bites have a nasty tendency toward necrosis—”

“Necrosis?” Leighton asked.

“Tissue death,” Watson explained. “The tissue around the bite can become gangrenous. But there are ways to treat that, now, that will prevent calamities such as the loss of his leg.” Salah’s eyes grew wide, and his forehead puckered in worry. “Not to worry, Salah, you’re in good hands. Carbolic generally sets matters right, and I have that aplenty, and more beside. If it should become necessary,” he added, “I can grow a bread mould that would have amazing results when placed upon such wounds.”

“Bread mould?” Leighton wondered.

“Yes,” Watson said with a smile. “Strange to say, isn’t it? Makes me sound rather like a quack! But no, I have been keeping up with the research being done on the
Penicillium
family of moulds. It is most fascinating. They have not isolated the important extracts yet, but I have hopes.”

“Doctor,” Alimah asked, “will you wish another round of cups?”

Watson studied the wounds, noting that some of the swelling was starting to diminish in the leg. “No, I don’t think so, Alimah,” he determined. “It looks quite good. We may be able to elevate it soon, and I don’t want to over-do the blood-letting, in any event.”

“Shall I remove the cups and bandage the limb for you, then?” Alimah asked with a smile. “I am very experienced, I assure you.”

“Very good, Alimah. Remove the tourniquet at the same time, I think. You might dab the area with some carbolic before you bandage it, too.”

“I shall. And perhaps your lady friend may wish to observe. I can teach her about the techniques while I am about it.”

“Leigh, what say you?” Watson looked up at the younger woman.

“I’m game,” Leighton averred staunchly. “I want to learn how to help someone like Salah, here.”

“I think you may make an excellent nurse, with a bit of training, Leigh,” Watson said, rising from his seat and moving aside to let Alimah have it. “I have known some to faint at a sight like this.”

“I agree, Doctor,” Alimah lilted. “She has the head, and she has the heart.”

Leighton and Watson exchanged happy smiles, and Watson went to wash up.

* * *

After a few inquiries, Watson discovered that Holmes had disappeared into the ancient vault with a large sketch-pad after lunch, there to copy all of the hieroglyphics upon the walls for later translation.

Watson himself had finally finished his duties in the hospital infirmary, ascertained that poor Saleh was doing as well as could be expected, then taken Leighton and gone for a walk, careful both to carry his revolver and to watch for snakes. The others were out and about as well, engaged in various tasks.

“Let’s climb the mountain, John,” Leighton suggested, cheerful. “It’s later in the evening now, and it will be cooler up there.”

“No, Leigh, I should much rather remain close to the camp.”

“But why?”

“It is still too hot, for one! But mostly because the local cobras seem to have got their tails in a knot,” Watson explained with some fanciful humour, “and not only will it not do for ourselves to run across them, as the dig’s physician, I must stay close in case of medical emergency. You saw the mess earlier to-day. Among others, Lord Trenthume has gone for a stroll, as well. Holmes sent me word a bit ago that the Earl is trying to clear his mind and recollect something that may be important to the study of the crypt. It will not do for me to be too far away to help, should he become careless and be bitten.”

“Ooh,” Leighton groaned, “the nasty snakes. Yes, this morning was positively dreadful. I shouldn’t want to experience it, or have to watch you experience it, either, John. And Lord Trenthume does seem to be rather absent-minded, doesn’t he? Well, I shan’t argue, because I don’t want to anger one, either! That and the hot sun are the only things about this adventure that I simply don’t like.”

“What about the dust and dirt?”

“What about it?”

“Most women of your age and breeding would find it distasteful, at the least.”

“But you can’t dig for archaeological finds and not get a bit dirty and dusty, John! That’s part of the fun and the excitement of it all!” She glanced about and saw no one else. “Do you want to know a secret?”

“What?”

“Da has forbidden me to go into the dig pits! He says it isn’t lady-like. Otherwise, I should be right down in there with the rest of them, digging in the dirt and finding some glorious old, perfectly unique specimen!”

“You are quite a unique specimen yourself, Leigh,” he replied, chuckling. Leighton returned his smile, pleased and happy.

“Do you suppose it would be safe to walk around the perimeter, then?”

“I think so,” Watson considered. “I have my service revolver, and it is loaded. Here.” He offered his arm, and they set off on their perambulation, chatting happily as young lovers are wont to do.

CHAPTER 8

The Mineralogical Enigma

—::—

Two hours later, the pair returned to the camp proper, in time for dinner. Cortland was also back, safe and sound… but without any more notion of where he had seen the strange night-sky-like stone than he had before. Nichols-Woodall was still absent, evidently communing with his colleagues from the vantage of the telegraph office in town; whether said communion would be fruitful or not remained for his return.

Holmes was also back, but withdrawn, quiet and thoughtful. He sat just outside the flap of the tent he shared with Watson, studying his transcription and occasionally scribbling notes in the margins.

“What are you doing, Sherry?” Leighton wondered as she walked up on Watson’s arm.

“Mm? Oh, beginning a preliminary translation of all those hieroglyphics inside the crypt, Leigh,” he responded a bit absently. “It looks to be quite unusual…”

“Well, it can wait,” Professor Whitesell declared, coming around the corner of the tent. “I’ve been looking for you lot. The servants are only holding dinner until I could find you.”

“Professor, I should really prefer—” Holmes began.

“No buts, young man,” Whitesell blustered. “You know my rules, well enough.” Holmes sighed.

“What about Nichols-Woodall?” Watson asked. “He hasn’t got back yet.”

“Had a note from him, carried back by the dog-cart driver,” Whitesell said. “The responses to his telegrams indicated that two of his mates were not so far away. So he took boat downriver to Luxor, to consult with a couple of his colleagues. He’ll likely spend the night and be back to-morrow, hopefully with information.” He gave Holmes a stern mock-glare. “All the more reason not to let those of us left here escape a nice, communal meal.”

“I really think this is more important,” Holmes declared.

“But Sherry, you haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast,” Leighton protested. “You spent luncheon in the crypt, and didn’t even come out for tea! Did you at least carry your canteen?”

“I did,” Holmes said succinctly. “And used it.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Watson remarked drily.

“But you didn’t eat! That can’t be good for you, can it, Da? John? Tell him it isn’t good for him.”

“I’ve done so many and many’s the time, Leigh,” Watson said with a wry grin, shaking his head. “When he gets that mind of his focussed on something, little else matters.”

“Well, I matter!” Whitesell boomed cheerfully. “And last I checked, I was in charge of this dig. And I say: COME TO DINNER!” He laughed, then added, “I expect all THREE of you at table in five minutes!” He headed off in the direction of the mess tent, whistling jauntily.

“If we must, we must,” Holmes huffed.

He put away the sketch-pad within the tent, then joined Watson and Leighton.

* * *

Dinner was mildly more congenial without Nichols-Woodall to snipe with Beaumont, though Phillips maintained a towering silence and sent many a glare at Watson, who sat beside an effervescent Leighton, who was in turn occupying Nichols-Woodall’s vacant seat. It seemed their afternoon stroll had not escaped his attention, even ensconced in the artefact tent as he had been, and he resented it vehemently. It had long since become patently obvious to Holmes that Phillips had intentions toward Leighton, intentions which had been thwarted by first Holmes and now Watson, and in despite of Leighton’s wishes, as she had told him. So Holmes had kept a wary watch on matters, but there was no indication, to the detective’s practised eye, that Phillips intended to do anything this time… other than glower and sulk.
After all,
the detective considered,
Watson’s personal history in the Army is well-known, and that is unlikely to be something with which Phillips wants to tangle, even with Watson’s mild disability.
After a couple of futile attempts by Whitesell to draw Phillips into the conversation, the professor forbore, and confined himself to a discussion with Holmes, Cortland and Beaumont for the rest of the meal.

The professor maintained an enthused chatter over the discovery of the crypt, and what could possibly be the point of interring a mere stone slab within it. This chatter was bantered back and forth by both Beaumont and Lord Trenthume, with a thoughtful Holmes occasionally offering a bland observation. The sleuth also noted that Beaumont seemed to be intent upon drawing Whitesell out on what he believed the crypt to represent; but the younger archaeologist certainly did not volunteer any information himself. Cortland was nearly as enthusiastic as Whitesell, however, and the pair babbled back and forth for over an hour, through all three dinner courses.

Just then, Watson leaned over and tapped Holmes’ arm beneath the level of the table.

“Holmes, do you need me for anything after dinner?” he murmured.

“No, not particularly. Why?”

“Leighton has invited me… I had thought to visit with the professor and herself in his tent.”

“Ah,” Holmes grinned. “Go right ahead with your courting, old fellow. I have plenty to do as it is, and I am likely to still be up when you return.”

“Not on my account, I hope. It will all be very proper and above-board.”

“No doubt, my dear Watson. But the inscriptions were copious, and will take some little time to translate. And they are the oldest Egyptian script I have ever seen, so they will not be easy. I only hope my translation skills are up to it.”

“Do you have reason to think you may have difficulty?” Beaumont interjected the question. “Forgive me,
mon ami
, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard you mention the inscriptions, and I am curious.”

“It will certainly not be elementary,” Holmes admitted. “While I have considerable skill with the Middle Kingdom inscriptions from my prior work with the Professor, and some experience with what are called by some, ‘proto-hieroglyphs,’ I had not thought there was a form of the writing that was older still, but this does appear to be.”

“You translated the lintel writing readily enough the other day, old chap,” Watson pointed out.

“Yes, but as I told you at the time, Watson, the curses seemed to be based on… or perhaps, part of the original source for… the Book of the Dead. So after getting the first bits, I had some expectation of what came next, within reason. The outer room is another matter altogether, and does not seem to relate to anything I have ever seen before.”